


Nothing Left

by authoresswithoutwords



Series: Left [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Suicide, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:06:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23511298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/authoresswithoutwords/pseuds/authoresswithoutwords
Summary: What if there never was a second resurrection?//It is necessary to have read The Left Words to understand this story.//
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: Left [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1658788
Comments: 18
Kudos: 443





	Nothing Left

It is a beautiful day when Harry finally breaks. There is sunshine, and a light blue colour, and just enough clouds to make the whole sky feel like it’s been ripped straight out of a cheesy postcard. The wind moves the leaves barely enough to make them whisper just so. The castle stands proud and pristine, grey stone and black bricks, doors and windows wide open to let in the warm air, a picture of invitation and safety. From how close Harry is standing, he can hear the delighted laugher of children without a Dark Lord to be worried about. Exams are over, but the time to pack and say goodbye has not come yet.

It is all fine. It is all perfect. Picturesque, almost kitschy.

All Harry can see is his soulmate.

His soulmate who loved Hogwarts so much.

His soulmate who thought of Hogwarts as his first home before he went out and made one for himself, surrounding himself with faithful house elves and obedient humans.

His soulmate who is _gone_.

Yes, Harry finally admits it to himself.

Vorlost is _gone_. He may not be dead – _yet_ , a dark voice whispers in Harry’s mind –, but he is gone. Gone in body, mind and soul.

Harry can’t feel the soul bond.

Harry can’t feel warm anymore.

He knows, and his mind knows, and his magic knows, that the soul bond has connected them, Vorlost and Harry, pulled them ever-closer, trying to get them to fulfil the bond and tie them together as soulmates, true and real soulmates.

No matter what colour his words are, no matter what his body shows, the bond has been initiated, and Harry suffers for it.

Until now, he has kept himself sane by thinking about Vorlost and his resurrection, planning, learning.

Not enough.

There is no clue. Not the slightest hint. Not the merest cue into a direction. Not since Peter Pettigrew has been Kissed by a Dementor.

No resurrection.

No matter, Harry thinks resolutely. He will go out and search the world for his soulmate, and then, he will bring him back. Vorlost will know how, he is sure.

With that thought in mind, Harry walks into the castle, dodging the masses who want to thank him _so much_ for his soulmate’s _temporary_ death, _temporary, it’s temporary_ , says a quick goodbye to his students, hugging them and being surprised by how much comfort he derives from their firm embraces, and then, he is gone.

The world is waiting for him.

A day later, a highly distressed owl brings a letter from a more distraught witch. The owl doesn’t find the recipient, hidden behind Owl Redirection Wards as he is, and can only circle the castle where he last was.

A pair of twins finds it, takes its letter and cautiously opens it after much discussion. The contents make them doubt for a minute before recalling their mentor’s words, and then they run for their own owls.

They aren’t any more successful than the first one.

The twins and their friends go on trips, close and far, desperate to find him, _find him_ , but he has disappeared.

Silvia’s warning to “stay there, if you value your soulmate’s life and your sanity” goes unheard.

A month later, a poisonous green snake is caught by a pair of Muggle boys. Their bodies show bite marks and a venom no Muggle has ever seen. A researcher complains about it to his Muggleborn cousin.

It only takes a week until the whole Wizarding World is up in arms, trying to slay that beast that killed innocent humans who only wanted to torture it to death for fun.

It only takes a day and three dead Aurors until Nagini burns in Fiendfyre.

A year later, Harry has been to every country in Europe. There hasn’t been a clue yet. But he doesn’t give up. What does it matter how long it takes until he finds him? All that is important is that he does.

Harry makes sure that he has his trunk and his wand, farewells the sleepy little village in the mountains he’s found himself in and apparates to the train station, boarding the next express train to somewhere he hasn’t been yet. During the hours it takes for him to arrive, he stretches his magic as far as it will go and concentrates on finding the barest hint of a trace of his soulmate. He _knows_ he won’t fail to pick up on it if it exists. As if to support his confidence, his magic goes a bit father, becomes a bit thinner, searches a little more.

If there is anything to be found, he will find it.

He hasn’t in Albania, nor was he successful on any routes from there to Britain, so he’s taken to monitoring the other European countries.

Nothing as of yet.

This train will carry him to Moscow and beyond, into Asia. When he is done there, he’ll return to Britain through Africa, though he hopes he’ll finally find him before it comes to that.

Most of the Death Eaters – or those who have escaped both the Aurors and betraying their Master – are scattered throughout Australia and the Americas; Bellatrix and the Lestrange brothers are circling the British Isles, hoping to meet Vorlost as he returns.

Harry rubs his bracelet and thinks longingly of the time when his words will be red again, missing that Bellatrix lets out a rage-filled bellow in her hiding place in Spain and apparates to the Ministry, taking out most of it in a suicide mission, her soulmate and brother-in-law not far behind, that some Death Eaters cry in despair and others in relief, that the words have just turned grey.

Dead.

It takes another year of Harry searching, Harry hoping and hoping and trying not to lose hope, for him to take off the bracelet.

He’s dreamed of the moment when he will finally shed this protection. It will be when Vorlost holds him in his arms, once more in a body, warm and breathing and _here_. He will take off the bracelet and show Vorlost his words, watch as they turn red, see how Vorlost’s wrist blooms with the same words. They will finally kiss, sealing the bond and appeasing the tugging that has accompanied Harry throughout the first year of his travels.

Harry holding these lofty dreams of romance and love, it comes as a total and unpleasant surprise when he gets caught on a branch, tugs and tugs and uses the second hand and finally resigns himself to opening the bracelet. He does try to put it on without looking at the words, not wanting to see that horrid, most terrible black, when he catches a glimpse of his words. He has not even consciously considered what he is about to do until his eyes have locked onto them. Something is different, he knows, something is _wrong_.

It takes only the tiniest fraction of second for him to notice what.

Grey.

 _Dead_.

But that’s impossible! Vorlost has his Horcruxes, he has Nagini and Harry! He _cannot_ die!

But the grey doesn’t change.

Agony like never before fills him.

His soulmate is dead.

_His soulmate!_

His magic doesn’t know what to do. It’s not bonded to his soulmate’s, but he’s also not, but he still is, kind of, and so it holds the possibility of merging with the soulmate’s as it is meant to do, but it also does not, because the soulmate is _dead_.

And so, it starts to tear itself apart.

It takes Harry ten minutes to black out, but each microsecond feels like years.

When Harry wakes up again, he is in bed. There is a beeping next to him, and he blinks groggily until he gathers enough wit to grasp for his glasses.

White walls. White bedsheets. Characteristic smell.

Harry is in the hospital wi- no, he is not. He is not in Hogwarts. This must be a Muggle hospital. He fainted – from what? His mind shies away from the very thought of it, not providing him with a reason.

Concerned, Harry tries to concentrate.

The last time he was so out of it, so exhausted and weary and in hospital was after his suicide attempt.

His suicide attempt.

Which left him weak and helpless in the reach of Dumbledore, who knew about Horcruxes,

For a moment, he doesn’t know why this sudden thought seems so important.

But then, oh then, he burns with the kind of vengeance and hatred and self-disgust that can only be stilled with the blood of his enemies.

Harry returns to Britain that night. He visits Puck, now a toddler, and cuddles him and plays with him and laughs as he has not laughed since Vorlost has gone – no. No, Vorlost is dead. And all around him, the world is celebrating. Harry forcibly shakes off the thoughts of the billboards he’s seen in the minutes he’s had to stay in Diagon Alley, the ones with his soulmate’s disfigured body infected with Horcrux madness from before Harry met him, with his face crossed out and mocking words on them and _congratulations_ and _all hail our mighty Saviour, the Boy-Who-Won!_

Harry plays with Puck, keeping him up until he finally just can’t anymore and he falls asleep with a doll in one hand and his Godfather’s hand in the other. Harry smiles, smooths down his hair and presses a kiss to his brow.

Then, he’s gone before Diana and Nero find out he’s been there.

The next step is finding the traitors and taking revenge. What if one of them betrayed their Master even farther and gave away his secrets? What if they saw him and called for the Aurors? What if they dared raise their wands against him?

Harry has intimate knowledge of who was a Death Eater, both marked and unmarked.

Anyone still in Britain is forfeit.

The most loyal have died while taking their revenge, as he has learned.

The cowardly and smart have hidden far away from Britain.

Only traitors and fools remain.

He works quickly, from one to the other. He only kills the Death Eaters, leaving their children and spouses alone, striking hard and fast and gone before his target has realised they are dead. He takes them down without regards to witnesses – though none of them can see him under his invisibility cloak – and their wealth or status, tearing through Pureblood Malfoys like Muggleborn Deans and Halfblood Averys.

The newspapers praise him for cleaning up after the Aurors. Vigilante, they call him. Heroic.

Harry burns the paper and moves onto stage two.

The Order of the Phoenix.

Harry is just entering the little shack that houses an insignificant Order member, an unimportant Auror, when he notices that there is a Pull.

Sirius, he identifies. What is he doing here? Wasn’t he travelling the world, enjoying his freedom and finding his soulmate?

No matter. If he’s fallen back into old habits, not even being his Godfather will save him.

Harry will take revenge for his soulmate, and he will raze the world to do it.

He notices his sanity leaving him, step by step. His plans become more chaotic and more impulsive and dangerous. He cares less and less about a clean and quick kill, about the pain and suffering the victim and their families and friends have to go through. Has he even put on an Invisibility Charm before coming here?

Does it matter?

The Order, then the Ministry, then the laughing masses.

Beware he who stands in his way, for he will fall with death’s scream on his lips.

When he enters the house proper, he finds the situation different from what he expected.

There is Sirius, and there is the unimportant ant, but Sirius is standing, wand in hand, the Auror bound to a chair, dosed up on Veritaserum.

“Who ordered her killed?” Sirius barks. “Who gave the permission for _my soulmate_ to receive the Kiss without a trial? Who thought it was okay to kill someone for being related to someone who might have been a Death Eater?!”

“I don’t know,” answers the monotone voice of Veritaserum.

“Don’t you fucking lie to me!” Sirius screams. A quick snap of his wand, a bleeding wound on his prisoner, a repeat of the question, the same answer, another spell.

“Sirius,” Harry draws his attention to himself.

Their eyes meet, and they read all they need to know in them.

Black madness meets bond-unfulfilled-but-existent-but- _not_.

A match made in Hell.

Hogwarts’ house elves are only too happy to guide Harry through the wards, even when they learn what Harry has planned. They remember Vorlost and his kindness against them, even if it only was to charm Harry and out of disinterest.

They remember, and they cry, and they help.

In and out, easily, quickly.

Most teachers slaughtered in his wake, a myriad of house elves following him out of the castle.

From then, it goes more quickly.

Vorlost’s elves and the ones from Hogwarts search for the enemies. Sirius interrogates them. Harry ends them.

On and on it goes, until the Order has perished once and for all.

Harry doesn’t even care when Neville’s body hits the floor next to his wife, both in a defensive position in front of their child.

Amelia Bones okayed the execution of all Death Eaters.

Rufus Scrimgeour included suspected Death Eaters.

Cornelius Fudge stretched the law to add relatives of Death Eaters.

Most Dark Families are dead, either by the Ministry or Harry’s hand.

Now, Sirius has an attack plan, and Harry doesn’t care anymore.

They had a hand in killing his soulmate, and if not, they know someone who did, and if not, they are alive while _he is not_.

They go in, wands blazing, like Bellatrix and Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange did once upon a time.

They raze that hellhole to the ground, Umbridge and Bones and Scrimgeour and Fudge included.

Sirius is satisfied and turns his wand against himself, all to meet his soulmate again.

Harry isn’t finished yet.

There are still targets left, Aurors and media writers and billboard designers and the general population.

In the end, Harry has erased the Ministry. He’s killed all remaining Death Eaters on British soil. He’s eviscerated the Order. He’s punished Hogwarts for never giving Tom Riddle a chance. He’s shown the Wizarding World how wrong they were to see him as a hero, to only follow what they wanted to see, not reality.

In the end, Harry has killed more people than Vorlost and all his Death Eaters did together. It was easy. His goal was destruction, not taking power.

In the end, Harry is put down by Arville and Rowan.

There are tears in their eyes, but they nod at each other, knowing that this is what Harry, _their_ Harry, sane Harry would have wanted.

All targets are gone.

All responsible have perished.

All Harry wants is to be with him again.

He begs them when they hesitate.

“Please, please. Please let me see him again,” he cries.

And, faithful students as always, they obey.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading! This work is the last in the row of "What if one of them actually died?" stories - hopefully you won't miss them too much! Though I do wonder which one was the most depressing...?
> 
> Next Monday's story will answer the question, "How come Dumbledore didn't see baby Harry's soul mark?" and show the parents' reaction to Harry's words, so look forward to it!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Memories Left](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23626204) by [Forestfire34720](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forestfire34720/pseuds/Forestfire34720)




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